


in sickness and in health

by cottagecorecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief Mention of Dean's Childhood, Brief Mention of Mary and John, Comfort, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Sick Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottagecorecas/pseuds/cottagecorecas
Summary: Newly human Castiel has caught his first cold. Luckly, with soup and domesticity, Dean is there to nurse him back to health.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	in sickness and in health

**Author's Note:**

> just for a little context, this oneshot takes place post-s15 (chuck was defeated and everyone survived because i say so). in this universe, cas is human again, and he and dean got married and moved into their own place.

“Here we go,” Dean says, holding a steaming bowl out to Castiel, who, even under a thick blanket, is still shivering. “Dean’s famous chicken noodle soup.”

“Famous?” Castiel’s wariness is obvious, and as much as he tries to hide it, it’s hard when Sam’s told him so many stories of Dean’s culinary infamy over the years. One dish in particular that comes to mind is microwaved hotdog omelette, and Castiel can’t tell whether it’s the thought of that or the fever that causes a particularly violent shiver to run down the length of his spine.

Dean frowns. “Okay not famous like that.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“I promise, okay? I used to give this to Sam whenever he was sick as a kid. It’s never failed me.”

Castiel is frowning in disbelief now, but Dean is insistent, pushing the bowl closer to him. “Cas don’t make me take that spoon and feed you myself,” he says a little more serious now. “Trust me on this. You’ll feel better in no time.”

Castiel always forgets how stubborn Dean can be. Usually he’d put up more of a fight, but today he’s too weak, and far too tired, so, reluctantly, he moves his hands out from the shelter of the blanket and reaches for the bowl. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, but Dean did make this especially for him, and he probably should eat something anyway.

“Okay, but I don’t see how this is going to help, Dean. Soup has no medicinal properties.”

“This soup does, Mr. Rogers, now eat up. That’s an order.”

Castiel sighs and rolls his eyes again. He knew Dean would call him that if he wore this sweater. It’s a nickname that’d stuck since he first bought it last winter, and at first it took him a while to understand why Dean was always asking him if it was a beautiful day in the neighbourhood anytime he wore it. He doesn’t care about how he looks right now though; this sweater is the only thing that’s keeping in any semblance of heat.

Dean is still standing there, watching Castiel with eager eyes, and it’s obvious that he’s not leaving until he sees him try some. Castiel turns his attention to the soup. He can’t deny that it’s wonderfully warm in his hands, and from what he can smell, although he can’t smell much, it doesn’t seem too offensive. Surely if Sam is still alive it can’t be that bad. He gathers some on his spoon and brings it to his mouth. To his surprise it’s not bad, although it probably helps that he hasn’t been able to taste anything for a few days now.

“There we go,” Dean says with a toothy grin, “you’ll feel better in no time.” He whips the dishcloth he’s been running through his fingers over his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen, brushing a hand on Castiel’s arm as he passes by.

Castiel isn’t hungry, but he eats the soup regardless, partly to appease Dean, mostly for the way it warms his chest and soothes his sore throat, something no medicine has been able to do since it started up a few days ago.

If he weren’t in love with Dean, Castiel would definitely find how he always seems to be right very annoying.

He’s so focused on eating that he doesn’t notice Dean rummage through the vinyl in one of the unpacked boxes, and it’s only when he finishes the soup that he realises there’s music playing now. The tinny twinkle of an old-timey piano tells him that it’s an old Men of Letters vinyl, and it’s not long before it’s accompanied by a muffled tapping on the windows as it starts to rain.

This time of year is usually Castiel’s favourite; the crisp, golden leaves, the shorter days, the slight chill in the air that makes evenings in front of the T.V. with Dean that little bit cosier. Today though, he catches sight of how those gold-tipped leaves whip in the wind outside and shudders, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands and wrapping the blanket tighter over his shoulders. There are lots of things Castiel likes about being human, but being cold, he’s decided, is not one of them. Another gust of wind rattles the shutters, whistling against the glass, and Castiel shivers again, moving from his seat to the floor and closer to the fireplace. Before he can even complain about being cold again though, Dean’s right by his side, reaching for a second blanket and draping it over him, making sure every part of him is covered. He nods his head toward the now empty bowl, “You finished that quick.”

“It was g-good,” Castiel stutters, desperately missing the warmth of that soup already. He’s expecting a smug remark about how Dean told him so, but he doesn’t hear it. Instead, Dean is looking right at him, his brow a little furrowed.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay? If it’s getting worse I can call a doctor or-“

“N-no, I’ll be f-fine,” Castiel manages, feeling like he’s already bothered Dean enough with this. It’s just a cold, he tells himself. Humans get those all the time. “I just need to warm up a little.”

Dean turns his attention to the fireplace, and noticing that the fire has died, he bends down and stokes it until the flames crackle back to life. Castiel sighs in relief as he inches closer, and Dean sits on the floor next to him. They stay like that for a while, Castiel huddling close to Dean, watching the embers as they hiss and sputter, and finally, when Castiel begins to warm up, he breaks the easy silence.

“You’re good at this,” he says.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, well you’re not my first patient.”

“Sam? Did he get sick a lot?”

“He had his fair share of ailments growing up.”

“And you?”

“Sometimes. Never got the Nurse Winchester treatment though – just had to push through it until it passed.”

“John, he never-?“

“No, no. Always on a hunt – could never make it home,” Dean’s voice is cold and distant. “I never did get taken care of really.”

Castiel’s heart sinks at that last part. It’s hard to believe, given everything, that someone like Dean could ever be as caring and as full of love as he is. Life hasn’t treated him fairly, and Castiel is about to say as much when Dean continues.

“Actually, there was time, not long before Sam was born, I caught some kind of stomach flu. I was up all night – didn’t sleep at all – and the next day I was so tired I damn near passed out at the dinner table waiting for my dad to come home so I could say goodnight - he’d been on a fishing trip with one of the neighbours I think.”

There’s a warmth to Dean’s words, honied by the nostalgia of a life before hunting, and as Castiel listens, his eyelids become heavy. All at once those lost hours of sleep catch up with him, and wrapped up and toasty as he is, head practically resting on Dean’s shoulder, it’s all he can do to not fall asleep huddled in front of the fireplace.

“Anyway, I remember my mom carrying me upstairs, tucking me in, reading me a story.” It’s easy to hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “My mom was the best at that – making me feel better. Well, when I was a kid, at least. I think it’s a special power moms have or something…” Dean stays quiet for a moment. “Y’know, I think she told me the angels watching over me would make me feel better soon,” Dean laughs at that. “Guess it’s my turn to watch over the angel now. Well, ex-angel anyway.”

Castiel is barely registering what Dean’s saying now.

“Hey, you still with me?” Dean’s voice soft and low.

A drawn out “Mm-hmm” leaves Castiel’s lips.

“Maybe you should go to bed, Cas. You’re exhausted.”

“No, I’m fi-ne”, Castiel yawns.

“Nope, come on, sleepyhead, you need your bed rest,” Dean says.

He stands up, helping Castiel to his feet as he does. Castiel is tired, and the thought of walking upstairs, to a cold, empty bedroom, with only unpacked boxes for company, is enough to make his achy bones want to shiver again. “Dean, the sofa’s fine.”

“Okay, okay, the sofa then.” Dean says, and places a hand on Castiel’s elbow to steady him as they make their way over. He only leaves Castiel unsupported for a few moments while he gathers some pillows, and then he’s right back and guiding Castiel to his makeshift bed.

Castiel sits, his weary body welcomed by the soft cushions, and once he’s settled, Dean places the back of his hand on his forehead. “Hmmm,” he says, and Castiel can tell from his expression that he’s still a little concerned. “At least you seem a little cooler now. I told you the soup would work.”

There’s the “I told you so” Castiel had expected earlier. “Soup still isn’t medicine,” is all he can manage to come back with.

Dean looks at him, something soft in his expression. “Okay, move over a little. I better keep an eye on your temperature. We don’t want your comebacks to get any worse.”

Castiel doesn’t register that last part. “Dean, no. What if you get sick?”

Dean leans down so that their faces are inches apart. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Cas. I think I can handle a little cold.” He places a kiss on Castiel’s forehead and brushes his cheek with his thumb. “Besides, I never get sick.”

“Dean you just said you did-“

“Come on, scooch. Doctor’s orders.”

Too exhausted to argue, Castiel does as he’s told, and once Dean sits down, it doesn’t take long for him to get comfortable again nestled against his chest, or for Dean to start combing his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“Thank you, Dean, for everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go getting soft on me now.”

“No I mean it, Dean. I know this isn’t what you had planned for when we moved in.”

Castiel doesn’t see, but a small half-smile develops on Dean’s lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Hey,” he starts, before placing a kiss on the crown of Castiel’s head, “I said in sickness _and_ in health. Just get some rest, okay?”

Castiel makes a noise that’s close enough to a “yes”, eyes closed and already half-asleep.

The last of the evening light filters through the window, and with Dean’s fingers gently combing through his hair, Castiel drifts off to sleep. The crackles of the turning vinyl blend with the sizzles of the fire, a hushed percussion that marries the music, now nothing but a distant echo. Castiel’s bones still ache, but unlike the night before, he’s not disturbed by a scratch in his throat, or a blocked nose that makes it hard to breathe. Tonight, safe and wrapped up in Dean’s arms on this tiny old sofa, he finds slumber easy.

Not long after, Dean does too, and they stay that way, curled up with each other in the flickering orange glow of the firelight until the early morning sun welcomes them awake, granting them another day they never thought they’d have together.


End file.
